


Learning How To Live

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe- Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, F/M, Funerals, Getting Back Together, Grieving, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Post Break-up, Post Series, marriages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-07 22:49:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15229674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He sees him again after six years, which feel like six lifetimes for Jim Kirk, who left the stars behind in an attempt to mend his broken heart.  Six years to accept that Spock was never meant to be his, not forever.  But fate has a way of getting involved, and putting the pieces back together where he thought them irreparably broken.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I told myself no new fics until I updated ...And Always Shall Be, but apparently I'm a lying liar who lies. This was given to me as a prompt by an anon for my tumblr fics, but the idea hit me way too hard for a ficlet, so now we have a big, long, angsty post-break-up fic, with a promised happy ending.
> 
> Putting spoilers in end-notes regarding the character death so you can read that just in case you need to. The death happens before the fic begins. I didn't tag major character death since it's not anyone tagged in ships, but it's technically a major character in the series.
> 
> The prompt was for, Spock and Jim reunite after several years of being broken up, with a happy ending. So I went the extra mile here lol. This fic is set in TOS canon, but is AU after the series--basically The Motion Picture doesn't happen.

While I thought that I was learning how to live, I have been learning how to die.   
Leonardo da Vinci

~*~ 

The PADD weighs nothing, but it feels like several tons in his hands. His thumb brushes the edge of the screen, the message displayed on the bottom half, and in the top an innocuous, unlabeled folder he doesn’t dare touch—hasn’t touched, in five years now? Maybe six?

Jim’s mouth feels dry, and he waits for some sort of feeling—anything, pain, grief, shock—to hit him. Instead he’s left with the numbness plaguing him since the moment he stepped off the bridge and everything changed.

His hands shake as his eyes stare at the address—and it’s not like he doesn’t have regular communication with Bones, but he supposes in a way he expected a damn vidcall, not some copy-pasted e-vite to a fucking _funeral_ of all things.

He feels hurt—there’s no other word for it—because he learned about Pavel’s death on the damn news before he got the message.

Of course it’s not like he has any right to complain. The Enterprise was in Deep Space when it happened, and he was the one who left. He was the one who decided that it was too much, and he wasn’t equipped to deal with the way things ended, and that taking the promotion was the only way he’d be able to move on.

His hand reflexively moves to the Admiral badge above his left pectoral, and he accidentally activates the alert for his Yeoman.

“Admiral? Can I help you with something?”

“No, Miss Baker. I didn’t mean to call you. But now that I have you, why don’t you head out for the day. I’m going to turn in early.”

There’s a hesitant pause, then she says, “Alright, sir. Do you want me to send your RSVP?”

Jim startles at that, then realizes she’s not talking about the damn funeral, but his cousin’s shot-gun wedding which apparently the rehearsal and all the family shit he’s expected to attend has been booked on the same day, and it’s not like he would ever, _ever_ use this as an excuse but…

“You know what, do me a favor and send a gift basket—something with wine, expensive wine. Send a message with it that I’m going to miss the rehearsal but I’ll be there for the wedding. Book my ticket round-trip, something late in the afternoon on Monday. I’ll take the weekend.”

“Of course, sir,” she says. “Baker, out.”

Jim sits back and puts both hands over his face and breathes. He wonders briefly if _he_ is going to be there. Jim wants to pretend like he hasn’t kept up on exactly what Spock has been up to since everything fell apart. But Jim has known from the moment Marcus told him Spock had turned down the Captaincy and actually _resigned_ from active duty to take a teaching position in San Francisco—about as far from Jim as he could get and remain on planet—exactly what Spock has been up to.

He thinks about him more often than he wants to admit. Walking down the dreary, rainy streets of London, wondering how much his desert Vulcan would hate all this rain and fog, and lack of sun, and how he might be persuaded to lean in closer. For warmth, you know?

Except it will never happen because what started out in a blaze of glory fell apart in a gentle, quiet spiderweb crack that fell to pieces the moment pressure was placed on it. Jim thought it was forever, and it turned out to be for moments.

So he fled, an apparently Spock fled. Scotty got the Enterprise—just as he was always meant to. Bones stayed on because he wasn’t going to suffer fools on earth when he could do it just as well millions of miles away. Jim doesn’t blame him—never did. Bones didn’t have much to come home to anyway now that Jo was grown up and in some Colony on Orion V.

They moved on, as everyone does eventually, and Jim was forced to deal with the grief because in his foolish, romantic heart, he never truly believed he’d end up alone.

Jim taps the screen and orders a shuttle to Paris—a feeling of wrongness overcoming him because it should be in Russia.

“ _He disappeared sir, like the cat in that Russian story.”_

_“Don’t you mean English? Cheshire cat?”_

_“Cheshire? No, sir. Minsk, perhaps, but not…”_

He can’t help his smile as he thinks of him, and then it hits him. For the first time it hits him that he’s gone. And it’s not like he and Pavel were _that_ close, but after all those years and all those missions, and all those moments…

Watching him board the ship and work his way up, and achieve more than most his age could ever hope to achieve…

To have it all ripped away, shot down, and snuffed out…

Jim swallows thickly and wishes he could add a few extra days to his trip. Maybe go to Minsk, and Moscow, and St. Petersburg, and hunt down all those sacred things Pavel treasured. He breathes and thinks of Hiraku and hugs himself tightly around his middle.

Maybe it was better this way—to lose Spock to anger and distance rather than death. It’s been years, but not enough time has passed that he can forget the way Spock’s lips felt against his own—the press of his firm, steady fingers against his face as their minds connected.

Jim swears some days he can still feel the bond between them in his head, but those are fleeting moments—a ghost, and echo of what was. He remembered the moment the bond went dark, shattered just like everything else.

He spent days drinking, bereft, a hollow ache so intense he couldn’t bring himself to move, or eat, or cry. And then he got up, and he got to work, and maybe he was a shadow of himself, but he survived. And that’s what Jim Kirk is and always will be—a survivor.

Pushing up from his desk, Jim grabs his keys and heads out, ordering the lights to zero percent, and preparing himself for what might be the longest weekend of his life.

~*~ 

Paris is always the strangest city. It houses Starfleet headquarters, but it’s also a historically protected city, which halted renovations in 2100, leaving in tact buildings, roads, and signage which make Jim feel like he’s climbed into the pages of Tale of Two Cities. He can literally see the words on the page represented in the streets which are cobbled and saved only because the only thing that touches them anymore are the flat soles of tourist shoes.

The Seine is artificially run, but the boats and bridges are the same as they were in classic films, and it makes him want to lose himself there. It was once the city of romance—now mostly a hub for history buffs and the students who are majoring in xenolinguistcs. Jim considered teaching there since he’s qualified for it now—six languages he speaks fluently, and his cultural training spans more than a dozen folders—but London spoke to him in a way no other city had.

So he teaches theoretical command and navigation classes and goes home to an empty, cold flat every night, and tries to pretend he doesn’t assume that every footfall behind him is the one person he wants it to be.

His heart aches, even here.

He checks into the hotel—another bit of ancient architecture with stone fixtures and glass doors operated manually by hinges, and chandeliers hanging in the middle of the lobby. They even use plastic key-cards for their doors—like authentic, ancient plastic that only exist in these few cities. The weight is strange and bulky in his hands, and it feels weird to have a door attempt to read a magnetic strip to allow him entrance.

But he eventually makes it work and he steps inside to find the rooms—at the very least—modernized. Apart from the balcony’s iron railings, everything else is as he would have expected anywhere else. A sonic with a water option, a holo on the wall which turns on the moment he enters and offers to order out anything he needs. There’s a replicator near a large mirror, one he avoids because he doesn’t really enjoy staring at his wrinkles and silver hair which has finally begun to permeate his honey blonde.

The funny thing is, he’s not old. Not really. A five year mission—he was thirty-seven the day he stepped off the bridge for the last time, and he just passed forty-three. It’s not even middle age—not these days, not yet. But signs of aging are apparent and obvious, and he laughs to imagine what Spock might think of him now looking painfully _human_ and a reminder of one of the reasons Spock turned his back on him.

Not that Jim could blame him. Jim got the better end of the deal. He’d get to grow old, and pass on, and never have to worry about living hundreds of years after the man he loved died. It was selfish and cruel to ask Spock to go through something like that, and it was selfish and cruel to be furious when Spock confided in him that he feared it.

He could have been better—should have been better. But his could haves and should haves are an innumerable list of things he keeps locked away because he just can’t bring himself to deal.

Throwing his bag on the bed, Jim sits on the edge, presses his hands to his face, and lets himself fall apart for a moment. He feels more alone than ever, and especially with the thought that he’s about to be surrounded by the people he loved most in the world, and it’s to pay a final tribute to someone he failed. Because if he hadn’t been such a selfish shit, if he’d just kept the post maybe he could have stopped Pavel from…

He stops himself. He can’t go there. Not now. Not here. This isn’t about him.

He reaches for his comm and taps out a message to a too-familiar number.

_Jim: Hey Bones. I’m in the city. Thought we could grab a drink before all the madness begins._

**Bones: You got some nerve, Jim. And I’m already in the bar. I know Nyota booked us all at the same place, so get your ass down here. This glass of scotch isn’t going to drink itself.**

Jim smiles in spite of himself, and he actually does give himself a cursory check in the mirror. He’s in civvies at the moment—just a black sweater and a pair of grey slacks, and he looks…rounder than he had once in his youth, and his cheeks are a little more red from age, and you really can see all the silver in his hair.

But he’s still him and he doesn’t think Bones will begrudge him a little thing like aging.

He tucks his key-card and comm into his pocket, and barely remembers to take his badge in case he’s asked for it, and then he heads down.

~*~ 

Vidcalls are nothing like the feeling Jim gets in the center of his chest when he sets eyes on his old crew for the first time in 6 years. Something tight and coiled goes lax and sends warmth flooding through his limbs as Scotty opens his arms and drags Jim in for the hug of his life. He loses himself in the feel of it—just for that moment, and he doesn’t think about how absolutely and utterly touch-starved his self-imposed isolation has made him.

He pulls back, only to have Nyota drag him in, her long, slender-fingered hand cupping his cheek as she presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then hugs him just as fiercely. Her perfume is the same as it ever has been. He’s struck with a sudden, cruel memory of holding her, of his body being forced to hold her close and press their lips together. But it’s quickly eclipsed by the laughter in her eyes, and the genuine joy in her smile because against all odds, she’s happy to see him.

“You look so good, Captain,” she says.

Jim scoffs with his old, playful smile. “I don’t know if anyone told you, but it’s Admiral now.”

She just shakes her head and pats his cheek. “You’ll always be my captain.” She settles back into her seat, and he sees the way Scotty’s arm comes around her—familiar and possessive and he understands that they’ve finally matched their orbit and have become a thing.

He’s both bitter and thrilled about it.

Bones is next, the man looking every bit his age now, scowling from his seat at the bar, but there’s longing in his eyes, and there’s a tremble in his hands as he drags Jim into a one-armed hug, patting his cheek roughly when it ends far too soon.

“Almost had to drink this m’self,” Bones says, and shoves the half-full glass at Jim.

He’s not much of a drinker—never has been, but even less now. Still, the burn is welcome because there are a few notable, missing faces in this crowd which make the pain worsen. Hikaru isn’t expected to be here, of course. You lose your husband after that many years and socializing at a hotel bar isn’t at the top of your list of things to do. Christine is missing, but she left the Enterprise a good three years after he did, and he’s not sure anyone keeps in touch. She and Rand have an apartment back in San Francisco—last he heard.

Thinking of the city, though, just reminds him of who else isn’t here and the gaping, Vulcan-shaped hole in his katra—as Spock would have called it—is prominent and bleeding. He can feel the subtle shift in the group, their refusal to mention the elephant in the room.

Jim sits on a stool and leans back a little. “So. Paris. Why the hell are we in Paris?”

“Pasha’s mother’s from here. He was born here,” Scotty says.

Jim blinks, then barks out helpless laughter. “Captain Russia was half _French_?”

The group titters a laugh, light but fresh with their loss, and Bones shakes his head. “That boy.”

That sobers Jim quickly, and he gulps the scotch simply so the burn will distract him from the pressing pain. “So tell me something else,” he orders.

After a beat, Scotty says, “The missus and I are tying the knot while we’re planetside. Actually we wanted to…” Scotty hesitates, then shrugs. “We were hopin’, Captain, that you might officiate.”

Jim’s eyes immediately go hot with emotion, and he has to blink and look away. He clears his throat. “Ah. That’s…I…it would be an honor, but I’m off to San Francisco right after this for another wedding…”

“We’ll be right behind you,” Nyota says, gentle in her way when she wants to be convincing, and of course it’s working. “Nothing fancy, Jim. Just…it wouldn’t be the same if anyone else did it. I know—we know—why you left. But you’re still family.”

Jim’s throat is hot and speech is impossible, and he’s grateful for the water Bones presses into his hands. How can he say no? How the hell can he say no. “Alright,” he says. “If we can do it on Sunday.”

Everyone grins. 

“Sunday sounds like the perfect day,” Scotty says.

So…that’s that, then.

~*~ 

He’s drunk—incredibly drunk—when he finally leaves the bar. He’s not sure if the others didn’t much care, if he’s just that good at hiding it, or if it’s just been that long they don’t remember the difference. Either way, he gets lost on the way to the elevators, and winds up in the staff hall near the freight lifts.

A helpful staff member who speaks very accented Standard helps him back out into the main hall, and he leans against the elevator button to go up. The whole thing is only slightly more terrifying inebriated as he thinks about all the metal, and cables, and potential for falling to his death should any of them collapse. But then again this place has been standing far longer than he’s been alive so that’s something.

The doors start to open—a slow, creaking process—and it makes him stumble back. But before he hits the ground, arms catch him and the moment he’s hauled to his feet, he feels it.

A dam breaking in his head, and a flood of feeling—loss, pain, fear, longing, before it’s shut off again, and he doesn’t dare look back because he’s too damn drunk but he _knows_.

The arms help him into the little compartment and he wants to look anywhere _but_ at the face he knows will be devoid of expression and emotion, but he can’t help himself. His vision is blurry from the drink, but it’s still his Spock standing there, now with hands clasped behind his back.

He looks the same—agonizingly, painfully the same. His eyes are heavy-lidded, cool, watching Jim with a tentative alertness in case Jim goes down again.

He clears his throat. “What are you doing here?”

Spock actually looks surprised at the question for a moment, before his features school themselves into indifference. “I like to consider Pavel a friend after all these years. It seemed an appropriate custom—to attend the funeral and express my grief and loss.”

Jim’s stomach twists. He wants to tell Spock the only person he wanted to see was him. He also wants to say Spock was the only person he didn’t. Instead he just nods. “Everyone will appreciate it. They’ll be…they’ll be happy to see you.”

Spock’s lips quirk, the expression so warm and so familiar it makes Jim ache down to his very bones. “I do not share your confidence, Admiral, but I appreciate the sentiment all the same.”

It’s the use of his title—without the teasing warmth Spock once had when he called Jim ‘Captain’—that brings him back down to reality. Spock isn’t there for him, to rectify things, to start over or…or give Jim hope for more. He’s there to pay tribute to a friend, and return to the quiet life he carved out for himself on the other side of the damn planet. Which is too small to house them both, Jim thinks.

Not that there’s much he can do about it now.

Luckily the elevator doors open, and Jim’s able to escape. Spock is on the same floor, but in the opposite direction, and Jim thinks maybe that was Nyota’s doing. He tells himself to thank her later for it, because having several rooms between them helps. Not much, but enough.

Enough that he can collapse on the bed and try to forget that seeing Spock, even for that moment, makes the pain fresh again. That seeing Spock makes him regret ever crossing that line with him—and makes him wish he could go back—even if he’d do it all over again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gigantic thank you to prariedawn and lenyberry for the help with this chapter. It would probably be a huge mess without you both, and I owe you any and everything <3
> 
> Any remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> This chapter, and what happened between Jim and Spock is supposed to be vague, so please don't yell at me JUST yet. I can promise that 1- it gets discussed in detail in the next chapter, and 2- this fic has a happy ending.

Jim startles when a hand falls on his shoulder, but he’s not surprised to turn and see the old, painfully familiar smirk on Bones’ face. Nor, if he’s willing to admit it, is he surprised to see the travel cup of coffee in his friend’s hand.

“You look like you need this more than I do.”

“You have no idea,” Jim says, and snatches the cup away, gulping down half and searing the roof of his mouth. It’s hard to care—the pain is a welcome distraction at the moment because not only is the funeral today, but it means… “He’s here,” Jim says.

Bones blinks. “You’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that, Jimmy-boy. There are a lot of people here.”

“Spock,” Jim says flatly.

Bones’ eyebrows shoot up. “Well Jim,” he says, and lets out a tiny sigh, “I figured you knew that already. What with the uh…” He wiggles his fingers at his temple and Jim fights the urge to roll his eyes.

“We got divorced, Bones,” he tells him. “You were there.”

“And?” Bones says.

“And…we didn’t keep the bond, man. What would…what would be the _point_?” Only somehow the words feel a little bit like a lie, especially with the way that—at least lately—he feels these sudden pulses of feeling and he knows they’re not his. He recognizes them from years of feeling them on the bridge, in his quarters, on planetside missions where they were separated. But he assumed they were phantom pains, like when a person loses a limb.

Bones just looks sad, more than anything, which to this day surprises Jim because it’s not like Spock and Bones were ever really close. For all of his space travel, Bones came from old blood which had trouble accepting anything that didn’t look or behave fully human. And with Spock, well…it had been even more complicated than that.

In truth, Jim had always suspected it wasn’t Spock’s Vulcan side that got to Bones, but his human one. The very idea that a human could be capable of that level of emotional control and logic—and maybe it was less fear and more envy. All the same, after five long years and putting their lives in each other’s hands, things between them weren’t the same as they had been in the beginning.

Just as they aren’t now between himself and Bones. Or Spock. Or anyone. They might have welcomed him again after all this time, they might still call him Captain, but he wasn’t that man anymore. The ship wasn’t his. And space was too far beyond his reach.

Jim sighs and takes another drink of his coffee which has gone unpleasantly tepid in the minutes they’ve been standing there outside in the tail end of Paris fall, creeping into winter with a biting chill on the breeze. “I just didn’t think he’d…be able to get the time away.”

Bones’ continued eyebrow lift tells Jim just how much bullshit Bones thinks he’s talking, and he considers it a slight reprieve that Bones chooses not to voice it aloud. He merely sighs, then claps Jim on the shoulder. “We got a long walk to the cemetery.”

It’s all for show these days. Paris retains a lot of the old world traditions, but earth burial hasn’t been legal for a few hundred years. It will be up to Pavel’s family what they plan to do with his body—hell, he didn’t realize Pavel had close family for all that he only ever spoke of Russia and the few friends he left behind. Jim isn’t sure what to make of it.

He feels strangely out of place—wonders if Pavel would actually even want him here, though he knows if he says as much aloud anyone listening will assure him his presence is not only wanted, but necessary. He has a speech prepared—one of the few things he accomplished the night before while insomnia gripped him. At any rate, it was better than trying to feel the long-dead nerves of a broken bond with a Vulcan sleeping just a few doors away from him.

In his most desperate, sleep-deprived hour, it had taken every ounce of Jim’s control to stay behind those closed doors.

Part of him wants to blame Spock for it all. Part of him want to wash his hands of all blame because it’s easier than admitting he hadn’t fought for it, hadn’t tried to protect something he wasn’t sure he could live without. In a way, leaving was the coward’s way out—but he _was_ afraid. Deep down, he knew there was every chance that he and Spock would reconcile, that they’d work through the pain and emotional distance which had grown between them after…

After The Incident.

There was ample time to heal and reconnect, fall in love all over again.

Jim wasn’t afraid of that.

No, he was terrified—so terrified he couldn’t think about it without breaking into a cold sweat—that if he did stay, it wouldn’t get better. That it wouldn’t work out. That he and Spock would find some balance, and fall into a fragile, amicable relationship bordering somewhere on the line of friendship and that…

Well that would kill him. Jim was sure of it.

He wasn’t always an all or nothing kind of guy, but with Spock…

His eyes close and he briefly thinks of how much his life has changed these past years. How much of it he’d wanted to share. He’s a father—though he’d always been one, he just hadn’t been aware of it until five years ago when Carol Marcus showed up at his door because their son was missing.

Jim and David don’t really have anything in common, and he’s allowed Carol’s carefully cultivated dislike for Jim Kirk to remain. But they did eventually find the boy—well, man—safe and sound, and now when Jim does see him, he can see himself in David’s features, but there’s something hollow about it. In a strange way that makes no sense at all, every time he ever pictured a child, he pictured pointed years and dark black hair, and deep eyes, and a thrill of triumph every time he could make his child give even the ghost of a grin.

He can’t think of that now, though.

Because right now they’ve reached the cemetery and Jim’s confronted by a larger crowd than he anticipated. Not because Pavel doesn’t deserve it, but because so many people took leave from work, from space travel, from life, to be here for this moment.

He moves closer to Bones when he feels a prickling sensation on the back of his arms, and he knows exactly what it’s about. Across the distance, standing with the group of people Jim recognizes from their five long years, is Spock. He can’t help himself from reacting—he could never get the hang of control—something Spock both loved and hated about him.

Bones notices though, and reaches up to brush a hand down Jim’s arm. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

Jim wants to argue that after six long, eternal years, it hasn’t gotten any easier, so the only thing he’s really sure of is being set back from all the progress he’s made being apart from him. It’s almost funny, in an ironic sort of way, that Spock’s biggest issue was Jim’s humanity, and his inability to truly understand what it means to be bonded for _life_. The humor is simply that the bond—that Spock, himself—ruined Jim for any relationship ever again.

He had once told Spock he knew what he was signing up for—that he understood it was forever. And in truth, he hadn’t been lying. He just hadn’t realized that forever meant without Spock by his side.

God, _God_ how he wishes he could blame him for it, but he knows his own faults.

He lets Bones drag him to the edge of the crowd, close enough he can see the sharp cut of Spock’s hair, and the pointed tip of his ear above the heads of the humans nearby. He briefly remembers taking the point of that ear between his teeth, savoring every gasp, and every groan he was able to wrangle out of his Vulcan, hoarding each one like a dragon.

He pushes the thought away from his head because this is not the time, but it’s so damn impossible not to think of anything and everything when he’s close enough to touch for the first time in six years.

Jim squeezes his eyes shut, and a man approaches the little podium. Based on the coffin holding Pavel’s body, it’s clear he’s going to be aboard a shuttle heading somewhere that will allow human burial. Jim wonders if it’ll be easier for his family, or harder.

He hears a muffled sob, and he glances over to an elderly woman whose got her arm around a dark-haired man and it takes Jim a moment to realized it’s Hikaru. His heart twists almost violently in his chest—the pain so great he has to clench his fists and breathe through it. His eyes get a little hot and warm, and he rolls them up to the sky—blue and sunny like a mockery of this day.

The man at the podium begins to speak, and it’s in Russian so Jim doesn’t understand the words, but the tone is enough.

“And now, his husband of eight years would like to say a few words.”

Jim braces himself because this is going to be…painful.

Hikaru looks like he’s gotten control of himself. He’s wearing a suit instead of his dress uniform and though it’s technically against regulation because Sulu is an active duty captain now, no one will begrudge him this. His face is puffy, eyes swollen, but he manages a smile as his gaze takes in the crowd—lingers on the old crew who are all-but huddled together.

He clears his throat. “Ten years ago, I was introduced to my navigation partner—a mouthy, uppity Russian kid who couldn’t seem to sit still for more than two minutes. He was distracted to the point of dangerous on missions—bound and determined to slip into the bed of any and every alien that might have him.” Hikaru clears his throat again, smiles, shakes his head. “I remember being furious at that man right there," he points at Jim, and Jim’s cheeks ache from holding back his grin. “How could a captain pair me up with a man who would do nothing but make five years feel like five hundred?” Hikaru sniffs, and Jim feels his throat threaten to close up completely. His chest burns with the need to cry, but he doesn’t. He’ll wait. “Ten years isn’t long enough—but then again, neither would a hundred be. It’s worse, because the last two years we were separated. I got my own ship, and I hesitated to go, but Pascha and I laid there for hours talking, the night I was promoted. He promised me a hundred years with him after we retired, on an island somewhere in the middle of nowhere, on a planet no one had ever heard of. I don’t…” Hikaru’s voice breaks here and it takes him a moment to compose himself. “I don’t doubt he’s waiting for me now, and since he could really use the lesson in patience, I have a feeling he’ll be waiting a while. But I know he’ll be there when I get there.”

Everyone is sniffling now, and Hikaru ends his speech there because it’s obvious even if he does have more to say, he can’t. Pavel’s mother is next, and her entire speech is in French—Jim understands some of it, but not nearly enough.

Then his brother goes up, and a cousin. Eventually there’s a lull, and Jim feels Bones’ elbow him, so he breaks away from his friend and reaches the podium. He grips the sides because his hands are shaking, and he lets his gaze linger on his old crew—his family—as they stare back.

Even Spock is looking, and Jim’s heart starts beating faster until he feels a pulse of comfort. It’s gone as quick as it appeared, so maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but it’s enough that he can start speaking.

“Part of me was wallowing in guilt, for how happy I was to see everyone after six years. But I think Pavel would have liked it.” Everyone grins a little, and Jim’s fingers start to relax. “He would have been sitting in the bar with us, drinking a hundred year old bottle of Glenlivet and telling us how Scotch was invented in Russia.” That gets a laugh. “He’d have a hundred stories of the people he’d met—people he’d saved, probably the world, if we’re being honest.” Jim manages to pass a hand down his face, and he looks over at Hikaru who is openly crying, silent, heavy tears as he looks at Jim. “My crew was better off with him. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t have the time to list out every moment he saved our asses. I’m angry—I think we’re all angry, because good men like Pavel shouldn’t be taken this early. But they are. He’d wax poetic about the way things come together and only to fall apart, and how there’s some old Russian Proverb that exists to tell us why that’s a good thing. I never believed him. It’s hard to believe him now—but.” Jim sighs out a breath and looks upward at the clear sky. “I trust him, so…all I can do is give my thanks that I knew him—that he impacted my life, and that I’ll never forget him.”

Jim thinks he should sign off with something more clever—maybe pepper in something like, Pavel’s death reminds us that we shouldn’t let good things go when we have them just within reach. But it feels wrong to use this moment for his own gain, even if he thinks Pascha would probably approve.

So he just smiles and nods, and briefly touches the coffin before walking back to his place beside Bones.

His best friend leans into him, and Jim closes his eyes and allows himself to be comforted.

~*~ 

“That was certainly a speech, my friend,” Scotty says, and clinks his glass against Jim’s. They’re drunk, sad, full, and exhausted. The table which once held more than a dozen of them, dwindled down to the last few, and most loyal.

Jim’s profoundly aware of Spock’s presence, still lingering, though he hasn’t said more than a handful of words since they sat down. Jim has done his best to keep looking anywhere but at him, only his eye stray against his will, and the few times their gazes have locked, Jim swears his heart tried to stop.

He’s sad, he’s mourning, and he wants nothing more than to be comforted by the man at the table he will never stop loving.

Then he blinks and he sees Spock’s furious face hovering over him, the accusations falling from his lips before his iron-clad control can prevent them from spilling out.

And then Jim hears his own voice echoing his own frustration and anger which had spent months and months building.

He knows Spock feels resentment flooding their bond, and there’s no way to stop it.

It’s why Spock said nothing when Jim told them they should just end things. It’s why neither of them fought—because it felt so, so broken.

What a fool he was. He couldn’t even blame a young heart, because by then, he was far from it.

“Well, next up is a wedding,” Bones says with a grin. “You still up for it there, Jimbo?”

Jim huffs, and he doesn’t miss the curious eyebrow lift Spock gives him. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. One funeral, and two weddings in a weekend. Wasn’t there some old movie about that?”

“Who knows, but I think it suits us just fine,” Nyota puts in. She looks radiant as ever—face still a little puffed from the crying, but her eyes are shining, and the ring on her finger isn’t hiding from view. Jim’s bitterness can’t eclipse how happy he is for the pair of them. “You taking the shuttle with us?”

Jim shakes his head. “Nah. I have to catch mine a little later—need to head back to London tonight, actually. But I promise I won’t miss out.”

“We trust you,” Scotty says with big eyes and total trust.

Jim considers fleeing, but he wouldn’t do that. Not to them. He slaps his hand on the table, and then pushes up. “Well, I should head out. See you in a few days.”

There’s hugs all around, except for Spock, but that’s to be expected. What isn’t is the way Spock bows his own farewell to them, and then leans into ask, “Might I accompany you to the hotel?”

Jim nearly chokes on his own tongue, but recovers enough to say, “Of course,” because pain or not, there’s no way he could deny Spock anything.

He feels another pulse, and this time he can’t pretend it was nothing, but it doesn’t make sense so it’s far easier to ignore. Especially with the alcohol buzzing in his veins. They head to the curb to wait for an aircar, and he finds himself leaning against Spock, just a little.

“I haven’t had this much to drink in…” He laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t remember.”

“Bajor,” Spock says, very quietly, and Jim startles away from him because he’s _right_.

He can’t help but laugh. “That…that weird…ceremony,” he says, gasping a little, and his heart does a rapid staccato beat against his ribs at the sight of Spock’s lip curling up. “They had us naked and painted and…”

“We were married for the second time,” Spock says, very quiet.

That sobers Jim immediately. “We uh…we never did file the papers with them, did we?”

Spock looks pained for a second, before his face goes neutral again, and his eyes dart away. He can hide himself from most, Jim knows, but not from him. Never from him. “It…was not binding, on Bajor.”

Jim licks his lips and wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him and tell him it fucking should be because he’s ready to grasp at any remaining thread that means Spock is still his. He holds back, even if he sees a funny twitch beside Spock’s left eye.

“Right. I was…joking.”

“Of course, Admiral.”

“Please don’t,” Jim begs, and then goes quiet because the aircar pulls up, and part of him hopes Spock won’t join him. He does, of course, and puts in the address to the hotel which is a ten minute drive away. Silence settles, and then Jim sighs and says, “I’m not your Admiral, and I’m not…right now, I’m just Jim and I feel like even if we’re…” He makes a sort of sharp movement with his hand between them, “whatever we are, I’ve at least earned some familiarity.”

Spock stares for long moments, then nods. “Jim.”

It hurts to hear, but it’s better than anything else. “I can’t believe he’s gone,” he says after some time. “He wasn’t…I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to any of you. Not like this.”

“It is, indeed, tragic,” Spock says. By human standards, it’s callous and detached, but for Spock, it’s full of grief and regret. “He will be missed.”

Jim leans his head back and closes his eyes. A headache is already building, and it won’t be made better by the trip back to London tonight. He knows he has to, though. “I miss them all. It feels like…” He huffs a bitter laugh and turns his head, opening one eye to look at Spock who is watching him with dark eyes.

“A mistake,” Spock says when Jim falls into silence.

Jim squeezes his eyes shut again and his breath is shaking when he sighs it out. “Were we?”

Spock blinks at him, and Jim feels a pulse of surprise, but he’s not sure if he’s feeling it or reading it from the Vulcan’s face. “Jim,” he says, an almost whisper.

Jim presses both palms over his face and shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…” His hands fall away slowly, and he forces himself to look over. He can’t be sure if it’s bravery, stupidity, or inebriation, but he can’t stop the words. “I miss you. God, Spock I…I miss you.”

Spock says nothing, just resolutely sets his jaw, and then pulls his Comm out and taps on the screen. _Well_ , Jim thinks to himself, _if I hadn’t done it before, that should solidify it._

If there had ever been metaphorical nails in the coffin of his and Spock’s relationship, this one was sure to seal it.

The car comes to a halt at the hotel, and Spock is out first. Jim thinks maybe he’s waiting to flee, but he keeps his posture as casual as he ever does, his hands clasped behind his back. He watches Jim with narrow, focused eyes, and keeps pace with him as they make it to the elevators.

The doors have the old-timey ding which sounds way too loud in the quiet corridor, and then they’re shut inside. Jim tenses his jaw, then opens his mouth to say something—anything—that can resolve this. Only he doesn’t get the chance. Because warm, strong hands are shoving him back. A long, lithe body is crowding against him. And lips, so familiar it _hurts_ are pressing against his in a hurried, wet kiss.

“Spock,” Jim gasps, and Spock’s fingers spasm on his waist, tugging him close. Closer. There’s not an inch of space between them.

“Jim,” Spock echoes quietly.

Before he can say or do anything else, they’re at their floor. There’s no one to witness this moment—painful and awkward and uncertain. It’s nothing like the way they got together. The tentative touches after Edith’s death, or the frantic, biological rutting after they left Vulcan’s orbit, thinking Spock was free and safe from the clutches of his plak tow.

No, this is something else. This is a valley between them, built by years of love, broken by a single act which Jim knows could have been prevented if he hadn’t been such a stubborn asshole about it. But it doesn’t seem to matter now. Because Spock is walking close to him—close enough Jim can feel him.

He gets his door open after three fumbling tries, and then Spock has him crowded up against the closed door. Jim’s head turns up, mouth parted slightly for the kiss that does not come. He can feel the hot puffs of Spock’s spiced breath along his cheeks, and he makes a noise of confusion.

Spock’s hand curls at the base of his neck, fingertips brushing the freshly shorn edges of his hair. “Jim,” he says again. Jim feels the hesitation in the Vulcan. “I do not…I am not able to ascertain whether or not you desire this because you have imbibed. I do not wish…I cannot be responsible for another regret.”

Jim feels his body spasm with pain, with want, with longing and regret that has nothing to do with being here right now, Spock in his arms. So he does the only thing he can think of. He lifts Spock’s hand and presses it to his face. “You can. Please, I need you to know that I want this, that I need…that it’s you, okay? That I want you because it’s you, and not because I’m making a drunk fool of myself.”

Spock closes his eyes, then he nods. His breath is trembling, but Jim feels the familiar words murmured more than he hears them, and then he feels the pulse—bright and fresh like coming home after years and years of being in dark, cold space. He lets the feeling of Spock wrap around him, push through him, and it’s better than sex, it’s better than kissing—it’s better than anything he’s ever experienced.

Up until that moment, Jim hadn’t fully realized just how halved he’d been after their split, and Spock in his mind again, he feels whole. His whole body shudders, and it takes him a good twenty seconds to realize that Spock has backed away, is no longer touching him, and is slowly withdrawing from his mind.

In a desperation to stay that way, to hold on, Jim starts to panic until he grips himself. He presses back against the door and takes several breaths until Spock is fully apart from him. Jim feels bereft and so, so _alone_.

“Spock, I…”

“Jim. This was a mistake.” The words sound hollow, and Jim feels them like a blow to the sternum.

“Please don’t. Please,” Jim says. “You had to have seen…Spock.” He reaches for him, manages to grip his arm, even as Spock maneuvers him around to get to the door. “Spock! You were there, you know how I feel!”

“I know, Jim,” Spock says quietly, head bowed. His hand closes over Jim’s and slowly pries his fingers away. “I have done you a great disservice in melding with you. I should have understood the cost to you. I must go.”

“I know that splitting up was my fault,” Jim says, even as Spock opens the door. The words get the Vulcan’s footsteps to stall, if only for a moment. “I know I should have tried harder, fought for you harder, made you understand that it doesn’t matter if it’s for life. I wanted it.”

“I knew,” Spock admits quietly.

Jim steps back in shock, pain flaring through him now, fresh and shocked. “…what?”

Spock looks up, looks him in the eye. “I knew,” he says again. “You could not hide from me, Jim, our bond could be shielded, but never completely closed. I knew it was a moment of…tragedy and weakness. It was for my own selfish reasons I let you go.”

Jim takes a step back, head shaking, but the words still come in spite of how desperately he doesn’t want to hear them.

“There were too many risks, and too many times were those moments out of your control. I did not blame you, but the hurt it caused…”

Jim’s head bows. “We could have figured something out. I would have quit. I would have left right then, Spock, if it meant we would…”

“I know. But I would not deny you the stars, Jim.”

Jim scoffs, anger taking over the hurt. “Yeah well, you cost me that, too.”

Spock swallows, loud enough Jim hears it click in his throat. “I did not think…but then again, in many ways, I underestimated you.”

Jim wants to laugh—years ago he might have. But now, he just backs up until he hits the wall to brace himself against it. Moments ago he was ready for more, ready to let Spock back in, ready to fix them so he could have this again. “There’s never going to be anyone else. You realize that, don’t you?”

“I had not considered it would work the same for you as it did me,” Spock admits.

“So walking away now, not even talking this over, means you’re condemning me just as much as you condemned yourself when you decided not to fight for what we had,” Jim says, and he knows he’s being unfair. But he’s angry, and he wants Spock to hurt as much as he is.

Spock swallows again. “What would you have us do, Jim? This…” He falls quiet, waving his hand around the room gently, “you, not in your right mind, grieving and inebriated, and having seen me for the first time in six years…”

“Like I haven’t thought about it every damn day since I left,” Jim spits. “Like you didn’t see it just now.”

Spock sighs, and bows his head. “I…did. Yes.”

“I don’t know what I want, but I know that I can’t live the rest of my life without you. Some way. Any way. Six years is nothing when you look at the years ahead of us.” Jim’s voice cracks a little, and he steps forward in spite of himself. “I don’t want to go like Pavel. Apart from the one person he wanted to be with. It can’t be like that.”

“I have no control over mortality,” Spock says. “The statistical likelihood of your shuttle crashing tomorrow is exactly four point…”

“I don’t need numbers,” Jim bites out, dragging a hand into his hair and tugging gently. “I just want to know you aren’t going to shut me out forever. This is it, and neither of us understood what it would mean for me, but I… I don’t want to condemn you to that, either. Even if I could move on.” Jim swallows, shrugs, lets his arms flop out in a weak shrug. “I don’t want to.”

Spock stands there, half in and half out of the room. Jim can see all of the options being weighed in his too-human eyes. Then he looks up to meet Jim’s gaze. “Sunday.”

Jim frowns. “Sunday?”

“You are to perform the bonding ceremony between Nyota and Montgomery. I have been invited to attend, and I have accepted. Perhaps after…we can discuss our future.”

The words our future ping-pongs around his head like a hummingbird gone wild, and it takes him a second to focus on everything else Spock said. He eventually gets himself to nod, because although the selfish, greedy part of him wants to demand that they do this now, that Spock not walk away before Jim has a solid promise to keep, he wants to try to be fair.

At least this time.

“Sunday,” Jim repeats. “Don’t back out on me.”

“I have never not kept my word,” Spock says. His hand lifts, hesitates, but then reaches for Jim and tugs him in. Warm, dry, familiar lips press to his forehead, and Jim feels a flare of _something_ under his skin. And then Spock is letting him go, and backing into the hallway.

The door shuts, and Jim is left feeling empty and hollow, but with hope on the horizon. He can’t guarantee there will be something, but at least by Sunday, he’ll know.

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler: This fic contains the off-screen death of Pavel Chekov, which is the funeral they're all attending.
> 
> Feel free to come yell at me--or exchange head canons, whatever, at [ashayamspirk](https://ashayamspirk.tumblr.com)


End file.
